


Drag Me

by OceansGreyWaves



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Sugar Daddy, Character's Name Spelled as Viktor, Chubby Katsuki Yuuri, Dom Katsuki Yuuri, Dom/sub, Drag Queens, Long-Haired Victor Nikiforov, M/M, Makkachin is a girl, Sub Victor Nikiforov
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-31
Updated: 2017-08-31
Packaged: 2018-12-22 07:44:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11962884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OceansGreyWaves/pseuds/OceansGreyWaves
Summary: Yuuri Katsuki, part-owner of Yuu-topia Onsen, flies to St. Petersburg to settle a new account. It's there he meets the hopeless romantic and barista Viktor Nikiforov, and the flirty drag queen Vodka Roxx.





	Drag Me

**Author's Note:**

> I got overambitious with my project for YOI Shit Bang 2017, and depression smacked me pretty hard, so I unfortunately did not finish. I am, however, posting chapter one so I don't completely disappoint everyone. Hopefully this will keep me from abandoning the work entirely. Rating/tags are for later chapters, chapter one is actually kinda nauseatingly sweet and fluffy.

Working the register was only preferable to pulling shots or mixing drinks due to the sheer difference in temperature. Viktor wilted like a cut flower in the heat, so while his feet ached from a subpar support mat and ancient, flaking (hideous) nonslip shoes, at least he didn't have to worry about steam burns, spills, or his ponytail sticking to the back of his neck as it sank towards his hips. Just his own shoddy handwriting and a never-ending stream of self-important customers. Thankfully, most of them were so very intent on viewing Viktor as subhuman that they rarely saw fit to make eye contact. Or, apparently, listen to his polite questions.

“Small!” the woman spat, almost literally, as she stabbed her card at Viktor. He tipped his head, put on his brightest fake smile, and took a calming breath to ask again. Opening his mouth, however, brought forth the voice of another customer, needle-sharp.

“Excuse me, but he's asking if you want whipped cream on your coffee. If it can still be called coffee. Please pay attention; he's a human being and deserves that much. And you're wasting my time; I'm not paid to put up with you.”

Cartoon hearts exploded over Viktor's head as he rang out the angry woman so she could stomp off and wait for her cup of syrupy coffee. His brave savior stepped up next, a little paler than the moment before, but grinning wide.

“I've always wanted to do that,” he chuckled, fishing out his wallet.

Viktor took the pause to look the man up and down, and bit his lip as he saw the soft but strong frame under the cheap suit. Dark, messy hair, warm brown eyes behind dark rimmed glasses, and a heart stopping smile. This knight in off-the-rack fashion was hitting almost all of Viktor's checklist. Carrying just a bit of plush was extra credit.

“And, well, you don't deserve to be treated like that. You're always so cheerful.”

“Thank you!” Viktor chirped, reaching for a cup without taking his eyes off his hero. He could feel the blush creeping down to his collarbones, and he was grateful for so many reasons to be working the register. “What's your name?” The man startled, and Viktor giggled. “For the cup.” He winked, waggling the cup between his fingers.

“Yuuri,” he replied, voice dry. “With two u's.”

“Mm, I could hear,” Viktor purred, dotting the I with a heart and scrawling his number under it. “Yuuri,” he repeated, drawing out the U. He passed the cup down the bar. “It'll be ready in a few, Yuuri.” He loved the taste of that name in his mouth.

“Thanks…Viktor.” Yuuri blushed dark, glancing at Viktor's name tag to read his name through a plethora of rainbow themed, peeling stickers. Subtlety was not one of Viktor's strong suits.

It seemed to be quickly leaving Yuuri's arsenal as well, as he tripped over a chair as he exited, causing a loud screech of metal over slate tile. Despite his attempts at melting through the door, he unfortunately had to push it open. Viktor giggled, watching him break into a run once outside.

A fellow barista shoved a bottle of water under Viktor's nose.

“You looked thirsty,” Yuri sneered. “And…here,” he grumbled, when Viktor took the bottle. “Yakov said I had to give this to you. It's from your bumbling boyfriend.” He thrust a crumpled bill in Viktor's hand and huffed off, tossing his hair and yelling at someone in the back of the store who dared to tell him to clean the steam wands.

Viktor looked down at the tip he'd been passed and went a little dizzy. A hundred dollars. He flipped it over, hands shaking, to make sure he wasn’t misreading. A genuine hundred dollar bill stared back at him.

“Oh, thank God,” he breathed, tearing up.

*

“You tipped him how much? On purpose? When you say coffee, do you really mean coffee?” Mari stubbed out her cigarette and strongly considered lighting another. Conversations with her little brother were like that sometimes.

“Jesus, Mari! I just--he's got this smile, and…” Yuuri was pacing his hotel room, cell phone to his ear, empty coffee cup in his other hand. Viktor's handwriting smiled up at him. Or rather, the heartmouthed face Viktor had scrawled under his number smiled up at him.

“And you went head over heels,” she finished, rolling her eyes and reaching for the half-full pack. Her brother was so predictable. He had a crush on the mailman when he was seven because he had a nice smile. And then the motherly woman at the grocery store. And there had been at least one merger he'd signed off on because the executive they sent had smiled at him the right way. Mari tapped a cigarette on the desk, still unsure if she wanted to light it.

“Well, more like head over chair,” Yuuri muttered, running his thumb over the little smiley face. He sat on the bed, listening to the creak and trying not to think too much about when they may have last washed the comforter.

“Yuuri. You wouldn't be calling me at two in the morning if you didn't want to call him. So call him.” Mari slid the cigarette back in its pack and stuffed the pack back in her pocket.

“The time difference!” Yuuri startled off the bed, crushing the paper cup. “Mari, I completely forgot!” He scrabbled back to the bed, trying to smooth out the bent cup, as though Viktor would ask to see it and turn Yuuri down strictly based on the condition of the coffee-stained disposable cup.

“Oh, yeah,” she laughed, shaking her head. “Call him. No question.” Mari moved to hang up, and paused, halfway out of the chair at the front desk. “And for God's sake, get into someplace better than the local motel! If you lose this account because you show up at the board meeting smelling like mildew and roach spray, I'll have you murdered!” She dropped the receiver into it's cradle from a height, for maximum emphasis, and returned to bed, where she slammed her cigarette pack in a drawer to keep from thinking about it.

Yuuri winced away from his phone as the call ended. He found himself once again alone with a cell phone and a cup. And a heartmouthed smiley face. Warm, tingling tension slithered up his spine and over the back of his head, and before he could think, he was outside, staring across the street at neon lights curved into an alphabet he wasn't too fluent in. He understood the brand sign in the window, though. And where there was водка, there was other alcohol. And, as the deafening music indicated, flooding out of the door as it opened and closed, it was eighties night.

*

At some point in the night, Yuuri had lost the ability to translate, and had taken to pointing at bottles behind the bartender. It was very likely he was now drinking high shelf водка, but he was just tipsy enough not to care. He had also been stunned out of his impending panic attack when he walked through the door to see four drag queens on a stage lip synching to the _Golden Girls_ theme. As the night wore on, his tips to the bartender grew fatter, his drinks stronger, and his appreciation for the effort put into the costumes had grown to an urge to sing along to the retro playlist.

His tie had ended up around his forehead, and he couldn't remember taking his glasses off, but they had definitely ended up in his pocket. These were events he could examine later—for now it was deeply important he make his way towards the stage for a better view.

“Hey, make sure he gets water every third drink, will you?” The bartender had grabbed the nearest server and nodded at Yuuri as he danced off to the end of _Material Girl_.

“What? Since when do we care how drunk anyone gets? That's the bouncer's problem.”

“Since he's slipping us a hundred bucks a shot and tipping the queens just as well.” He pointed at Yuuri again; he had found the stage and was tucking a bill into the corset of a slim, bearded queen who was feigning surprise in an act worthy of vaudeville.

The server paused, watching Yuuri wave another bill at the queen and pout as she walked off the stage away from him.

“Get me a water and tell the others he's mine.”

*

With the help of a few intermittent glasses of water and a stage show that more than held his attention, Yuuri had not quite sobered up, but was definitely no longer so tipsy he ran the risk of getting lost crossing the street to his motel. He was even able to stare at the new contact he'd entered into his phone as “Viktor \\(^♡^)/” without feeling that hot-cold tingle at the back of his scalp.

That's not to say he'd managed to compose a text, however. But he was getting close. The messenger was open. He was working the keyboard slowly, squinting at the letters, as the club went dark.

“Lllllladies, gentlemen, and eeeeveryone else here at On Ice, please direct your attention to the stage for the reason we’re all here, the Queen Mother of the On Ice family, the one and only, Voooodka Roooooxx!”

The announcer finished his introduction and snapped a pink spotlight on the stage. The opening synthesized trills of “Girls Just Wanna Have Fun” blared out of speakers with too much bass, and Yuuri managed to send a comprehensible, if not perfectly charming, text as black leather knee-high boots bounced into his field of vision.

_Hey itsnyuuuri from the coffee shop weshould go oitu sometieem youre really pretth xxxoo_

He mercifully remembered to hit “send” before shoving his phone back in his pocket. A black feather boa looped around his neck as he looked up, past toned pale legs, ragged pink tulle, and a black and pink sequined corset, into ice blue eyes. Yuuri whimpered, but the sound was swallowed by the music. Vodka Roxx winked outrageous eyelashes at him, and the pink rhinestones at the tips glinted in the flashing pink and white lights. Holding one hand up to keep her patent leather bow on her hair, and the other curled around the boa, she jumped off the stage, heels thudding on either side of Yuuri's chair.

Still a little tipsy, Yuuri leaned into her gaze eagerly, mouth slack as he watched her every overdramatic move. A flush came to his cheeks, stronger than the alcohol he'd been drinking. He swayed with the music, unable to look away from the way Miss Vodka Roxx flicked her hips, gauzy pink layers of fabric snapping in the air.

With a high-kick and a half-turn, Vodka Roxx dropped into Yuuri's lap. She crossed her legs and kicked her free heel in time with the music, lip-synching directly into Yuuri's face, which she kept tipped up to hers with two fingers under his chin. This close, he could see her hair was sprayed and chalked to be as outrageously pink as could be managed.

As the number came to a close, Yuuri held out a bill to tip her, and Vodka Roxx pressed a firm, glittery kiss to Yuuri's cheek as she slipped his hand into her corset, leaving the bill peeking out of her bosom. Yuuri slid off the chair to his knees, flushing as pink as the skirt that sashayed off stage.

*

Viktor shook money out of his corset backstage and almost cried as he totaled the amount. Despite being so attentive to just one patron for one song, he walked offstage with enough cash in his costume to cover most of his rent for the month. And with the hundred dollar tip from earlier, he was able to buy dog food and a whole flat of instant noodles. He'd even splurged on a good chocolate bar, the kind you savor a square at a time and hide in the back of the fridge.

“Hey, hag, quit crying. Your clumsy lover boy texted you some drunk babbling.” Yuri chucked Viktor's phone at him, and he was too stunned by his good fortune to be upset by Yuri reading his texts as they flashed on his lock screen. Unfortunately he was also too stunned to properly catch his phone, and it bounced off his shoulder and clattered to the floor.

“Not even a scratch!” Chris, the only queen who kept his beard, plucked Viktor's phone from the floor. “Must be your lucky day.” He winked, but Viktor ignored the flirtation.

“You have no idea,” he giggled. “Chris, thank you for the tip, that guy stuck hundreds in my tits!” Viktor clung to the bills as he tapped through his phone, more excited for a few mistyped words than the thrill of having secured crummy housing for another month.

“Tch, I don't need tits to make money.” Yuri—Ice Tigress, now—scoffed as she passed Viktor for her turn on stage. Her ponytail extension reached her hips, blonde until the last four inches which gleamed electric blue. Leopard print dominated her costume—leggings as well as the lining of her leather jacket—but the rest was black: low-heeled boots, wide leather belt, oversized sunglasses, and a lacy bralette which, true to her word, fit snug across a flat chest. “Watch this, bitches.” She disappeared onstage to the opening guitar riffs of “Hit Me With Your Best Shot”.

Chris rolled his eyes and pursed his lips. “Baby queens,” he sighed.

“She's not wrong, though,” Viktor conceded, hands trembling as he came to a conclusive total for the night. “Jesus, Chris, look at this…”

Chris' eyebrows, already artfully sculpted and dramatically arched, disappeared further into his hair. “Someone's got herself a fanboy,” he whistled. “I'm almost jealous. Hundreds in tips and getting texts from a clumsy lover boy. Vicky, you're living the dream.” Chris' sigh was almost wistful as he turned to touch up his makeup. “I think the dream would be less clumsy and more skillful, though,” he added, rifling for a brush in an overstuffed zippered bag.

At the reminder, Viktor sat at his mirrored vanity and stuffed the wad of cash back in his corset. He tried for casual, crossing his legs and shaking out the worst of his ratted up hair while sliding his phone unlocked, but excited trembling got the best of him, and he fumbled his phone to the dainty pink table next to him.

_Hey itsnyuuuri from the coffee shop weshould go oitu sometieem youre really pretth xxxoo_

Not the most articulate, but the thought flew out of Viktor's head when he saw three X's and two O's signing the text. Hugs and kisses. Already. His heart could burst; it was certainly fluttering fast enough to explode. Hugs and kisses. From sweet, soft, shy Yuuri who stood up to rude customers and ordered sickly sweet coffee that Viktor longed to taste on his full pink mouth.

Screw rules and convention, Viktor was texting back now.

_Yuuuuuri~~! \\(^♡^)/ im so glad you texted me (♡○♡) id love to go out!!! Take me to dinner?? (^♡^ʃƪ)_

Make-up removal and changing never happened so fast. The usual exhaustion that would have Viktor slogging as though through a hip-deep wading pool after a ten hour shift and a midnight set was nowhere to be found tonight. Instead, Viktor hung his outfit and skipped out the stage door, spinning as he hit the cool air, letting chalk and glitter shake from his hair as he started his walk home. He was looking at a lengthy shower to get his hair back to its usual silver, and maybe just enough time for a two hour nap before his opening shift at five a.m., but Viktor felt like he could soar through a whole week of opening shifts with no sleep. His heart was light and rapid, fluttering in his throat as he danced the mile home.

*

Maybe if Yuuri just didn't move, his head wouldn't hurt so bad. It was the moving that had been the mistake. He would just stay here, under this tangled bedspread, missing a sock, and just never…ever move again. That should do it.

His phone dinged, the screen lighting up and cutting through the dingy dimness that Yuuri had so perfectly cultivated. Had he not already been in such pain, he would have hissed. As it was, all he could stand to do was fumble to turn the brightness down. Once the screen matched the dismal grey of the rest of the room, Yuuri was able to read the screen. Through one eye. Squinted.

“All that drama for just two texts?” he groaned accusingly at the phone. His head throbbed, the room spun, and he pressed his face in the pillow for a brief moment. “Okay, thank you, point made, universe,” he grumbled into stale feathers and linen.

One text from Mari. That can wait. _Don't forget yo…_ the preview read. What could he possibly forget with all her reminders? It was as though he hadn't been running this company since it went international. She might still rule the roost in Japan, but Yuuri had been flying to foreign countries selling the onsen experience for almost five years now, and he'd only forgotten blueprints once. And he'd still made the account, because he was able to draw Yuu-topia's floorplan from memory on the back of a folder.

A text from “Viktor \\(^♡^)/”? Who was—

Yuuri sat up like a shot, scratchy linens falling around him almost beautifully. The clanging, banging pain in his head protested mightily, but Yuuri paid it no heed. How did pretty barista Viktor get his number? He opened the text—

Oh, no.

Yuuri had texted first. Drunkenly, it seemed. All he could remember from the night before was a lot of glitter and a drag queen in his lap singing…something to him. Something loud. And pink. And she was…wonderful. Dramatic and bright and bubbly and…an act. Yuuri shook his head.

But pretty barista Viktor \\(^♡^)/ was very real, just as bubbly, and just a little forward. “Take me to dinner,” Yuuri chuckled. Somehow it was cute. Charming, even, where from anyone else it would seem demanding and greedy. He was halfway through a reply when the pots and pans clattered out of the cupboards of his mind, and he was forced to toss his phone aside and bolt to the bathroom in the hopes of evacuating the source of his problem.

_I don't know the area, where w (sent, 11:11am)_


End file.
